Determination
by sarapals with past50
Summary: Sara left Las Vegas heading to an unknown destination. What happens? Does she return? Marriage, tragedy, angst, fluff.
1. Chapter 1

We do not own these characters

_We do not own these characters. Anyone reading this knows it is fan-fiction written in a collective heartbreak that the 'real' show does not resolve._

**Determination**

When it all began, Sara thought she would change jobs, or at least change shifts. She was the one who brought it up, who talked about it, who read departmental policy.

He said they would work something out. Neither wanted to become fodder for office gossip yet both were surprised when no one noticed the changes between them. Days turned to weeks then months and they learned to keep quiet, to be careful, to love each other, to keep a secret, and continue to work together.

She said they were like jugglers. He said it was black and white—work and privacy. For Gil Grissom, life outside of work was always private. For years Sara Sidle had no life other than work.

For months they were happy. All it took was for one to walk into a room and see the other. They smiled—a lot. They could be together for hours and say nothing, or talk constantly for hours on end. When she thought about it, she was amazed at how well they knew each other, how much they had in common, and how happy they were.

Sara noticed his distraction first. Not with her, but with what went on around him. His excitement left—again, not between them, but with work, solving problems, finding conclusions. He told her early one morning he had to leave for a while. He needed a break from work—again, not from her he said, but he ended up leaving her.

Perhaps, she thought, that's when it all started for her. If he could become disillusioned and discontented, the one person in her life whose presence stabilized everything that made her life, she could doubt her own self, discover a weakness of her own character, become uncertain about her abilities.

He returned; happy to see her, to be with her, to love her, to be at work. When he lost himself in work, when he spent a night with Heather—and she met this mystery woman of the dark, when he spent hours working on his own miniature model, she became restless, no longer willing to give up and move on. She became skilled at covering up. When he worried about solutions, she remembered victims.

Sara became a victim, one of the few who survived this kind of event. She thought she had recovered, except for the sleepless nights and her dreams of being a child again and one murder after another. Of course, they became office gossip, their private live became public, and when she moved to another shift, they rarely got to see each other.

The day she watched as a woman walked in with a knife in her back was the day she knew she had to leave. She had seen enough death and dying to last her a lifetime. Of course, life was never simple. A name from her past—more accurately, two people from the past, a death, and a second chance to right a wrong. It did not happen. Instead, she fell, or was pushed, back into the dark night of her abduction. All the questions of her own past circled in her brain until she knew she had to escape. And that's what she did.

_A/N: Please read and comment!_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

First to San Francisco leaving only a letter for him and taking very little, leaving what was hers and theirs for him to deal with later. The highway was busy with tourists and truckers traveling before daybreak as she made her exit from Las Vegas. She left her cell phone lying on the counter in Grissom's house. He would try to call her and Hank would be the only one to hear his messages. At some point she would get another one and call him. Not today. Tears were too near the surface and her resolve to leave to new to hear his voice.

She got to her mother's thinking the ghosts of her past could be resurrected by some wish or desire that would suddenly be known to her. That lasted ten minutes. Her mother had moved on to other concerns long ago, a third husband, or was this her fourth? Sara could never keep up with who was a boyfriend and who a husband. For years the two women had rarely talked. It was made clear to Sara that she could stay one or two nights, but her mother had no desire to explain or discuss events of twenty-five years ago.

Of course, this is where Grissom found her. Using her cell phone, he had called twice by the time she arrived. She made a promise to him. She pretended things were fine, then she left again.

Driving north, she followed the coastline drawn by the sounds, smells, and sights she had missed, finding herself asking why she had been in the desert for so long. She knew the answer—one name.

She meant every word of the letter. As honest as she had ever been with her words, it was true. The phone call was not. She said she was fine, when truthfully, she was not. She said she loved him and she did, but not in the way he wanted. She needed more of him, from him—selfish desires, she knew.

The promise she kept. She purchased a phone and everyday she called, leaving a message when she knew he would be working. Or in the middle of the day when he should be sleeping to avoid talking with him, but with a clear voice, saying she was fine, she was working out some things, she would call him again. She cried alone.

She had to concentrate on driving, at times the highway was crowded with traffic, slowing to a crawl or speeding at breakneck pace. For one day, she left the coast, finding sprawling developments in former farm lands or deserts. Too many people doing too much of the same things she left in Las Vegas.

When she could drive no further, she stopped, found a room, ate food, and tried to sleep. She shopped for more clothes in a multi-purpose mega-store before stopping long enough to do laundry. Everything but shoes and coat was stuffed into washers and dryers, folded and stuffed back into her bag. She lived out of her car, her restless wandering moving her from place to place.

A week after leaving, she stood on a vacant beach watching changes in surf. My mind works like the waves, she thought, always moving, always changing, yet going no place.

The next day she went back to the same beach, sitting all day. By the third day, she walked, picking up shells, rocks, and driftwood. She found a room across the street in a small mom and pop motel which she rented for a week. Every day she kept her promise to call Grissom. He thought she was with her mother and she did not tell him she wasn't.

As days passed, she gradually fell into a routine. She found a place to eat. She walked on the beach. She watched for whales. She spoke to people in the café and the hotel and the laundromat of mundane everyday things.

Three weeks after she left, she slept nine hours without waking and remembered no dreams. That day she called and talked to Grissom, saying she was better. He wanted to see her. She knew why she left a message; it was difficult to hear his voice. Her entire body ached with loneliness when he said he loved her. Afterwards, she cried herself to sleep and new dreams came to her, but these did not wake her.

It rained and stormed, making furious waves and rough surf, but she continued her walks on the beach. Soaked and smelling of salt, she ate soup and hot bread at the café. By now the waitress treated her as an old friend and filled her bowl twice. The owner brought her a slice of pie fresh from the oven. Another waitress gave her a paperback book and in that brief exchange, Sara found an outlet in books with a happy ending, the girl always got her guy, and problems were resolved in a few pages.

Sara read. She walked the beach. She walked around the small town with one main street and ten stores. Strangers spoke to her, and most of all, they were kind to an unknown young woman. She made a few purchases to make her motel room her own. She regained some kind of balance. There were no dreams of childhood, no death, no bloody wounds, no puzzles to work out, just every day living in the quietness of a seaside village that time seemed to have forgotten. She knew she would live; she was not sure she could return.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

People who saw her on her walks or in the café recognized a gradually improvement in the slim, gaunt girl who had arrived in their town. She smiled more, dark circles under her eyes disappeared, and color came to her cheeks. She ate enough to gain a few pounds.

She kept her promise calling Grissom every day. He kept his promise to wait for her call. She had been gone a month when she called at mid-day knowing he would be asleep. He answered on the first ring before she could press the number for voicemail. She said she was fine; she was sleeping; she was eating. He asked about her mother. When she responded with "She's fine" she heard him clear his throat in the way he did before he spoke.

"Where are you?" he asked.

She flipped her phone off knowing he knew she was not with her mother. Immediately, her phone rang. She cried as the phone rang three times before he stopped calling. In fifteen minutes, he called again. An hour later, she called him.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," was all she could say.

"Tell me you are safe."

"I am. I am better. Please believe that." She cried as she told him she was sleeping eight hours straight, that she had no more nightmares, that she was putting her ghosts behind her.

"I miss you," he said. "Please let me see you." Sara remained quiet. He continued, "I'll meet you anywhere."

He thought she was in San Francisco or at least nearby.

"I'm hours away, Gil."

"I'll come. Tell me where." Again, she was quiet. "Please don't hang up. I need to see you, to know you are okay." He heard her crying. "I'll do whatever I can to make things right, Sara. I love you." He waited for her to speak.

She did not hang up, but it took several minutes before she said the name of the town, one he had never heard of. "I'm coming. As soon as I can." He heard a muffled okay before the phone went dead.

Sara did not know he was standing outside her mother's house with a rented car. He had flown in to see her, only to find that she had left her mother's house nearly a month ago.

He made one call for directions. In five minutes he had a location and drove north.

In the past weeks he had tried to remember every word spoken between them. He had known she was depressed; he let himself think it was the job change. He knew she wasn't sleeping; it was the shift change. He knew she had nightmares when she did sleep; he thought these would pass. He learned how much she had not told him. Today, he learned she was not with her mother—a woman so wrapped up in her own selfish world that she had not questioned why her daughter appeared at her door. She was not concerned enough to care. Mother and daughter were such strangers that the mother did not notice the cry for help in her daughter's face.

Driving faster than he should, Grissom realized he could put his own name in his thoughts about Sara's mother. Whatever causes or reasons there were, he knew Sara left him. He was so obsessed with work; he left her—he had made this list a hundred times in the past month. He also made an unspoken promise, determined to make things right.

Most of his life, he had remained dedicated to his own goals and desires, had not sought personal relationships from many people and never regretted it. Until the young brunette caught his attention and he never stopped thinking about her. She was not shy, practically taking him by the hand and wrapping herself around his heart. He knew emotions were in the brain, but he knew it was heart ache he felt when he read her letter, when he missed her sleeping beside him, when he learned she was not with her mother.

He would still smile about those early days. He could never be sure but he believed he loved her from the first day. Of course, she laughed and took delight at pointing out the ways he ignored her for years. He would remind her at times when his fumbling attempts had ended in a miss-mash of wrong signals given and received. Again, if she had not insisted, always been there when he needed her, he would never have had the courage to physically love her.

It had been so simple yet so painful for her. Ecklie wanted to fire her. He was equally determined to learn why Sara's anger was so raw. In her neat apartment, she told him about her parents. Some of it he already knew—not because she told him, but because he knew about his team and with Sara, he knew more. Hearing her tormented words made him realize how much she meant to him. It took a week for his courage to build up so he could knock on her door again.

After that uncomplicated act of entering her door, he had never felt alone. She had given to him so completely, in such intimate ways; his one regret was in waiting so long. Only in the past month, forced to think in her absence, did he comprehend how much she gave to him and how much he took from her.

His realization brought him to her mother's house to find Sara gone—gone for weeks, alone, calling him once a day, leaving short messages ending with 'I love you, Gil.' He should have followed Catherine's advice weeks ago.

Hours of driving kept his thoughts on her, what he would do, what he would say, most of all, how to make things right, how to give her what she needed and wanted. He turned west to the coast, following a river on its twisting path to an alluvial plain before meeting the ocean.

_A/N: Thanks for comments—and for those reading, give us a comment every so often! _


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

With the sun low on the horizon, he found the town, barely more than a fishing village but big enough to attract a few tourists who left the main highway. He had no idea where to find her. All she had given him was the name of the town. She thought he was in Las Vegas and he thought it wise to let her think that.

He passed three roadside motels checking each parking lot before deciding she would be near the beach. If he did not find her car by dark, he would have to call her. He found her car in the lot of a small family owned inn, sporting a sign offering 'free fish' for a two night stay. Interesting advertisement, he thought, as he parked next to her car. Inside the office, the owner freely confirmed their guest's name but instead of a room number, he pointed to the beach.

"Sara's out there. I think she walked south." The man eyed Grissom. "I hope you are a friend."

Grissom answered yes. Spontaneously adding, "It took longer than I thought it would to get here."

The man nodded. "It always does." His head moved again. "She's a lot better now. We were worried the first week."

Grissom turned to leave, saying, "If she gets back before I find her, don't say anything. I want to surprise her."

"Sure. She's down there, you will find her."

He crossed the street to the path heading south on the nearly deserted beach. He ran his hand across his face as his eyes followed one person then another. A broad beach scattered with rocks stretched to the water. The ocean breeze was a strong wind making waves break and pound as they curled before reaching huge boulders offshore. Spreading smaller waves met the beach where a dozen or so people walked and played. Three hundred yards away, her arm raised as she threw something into the surf, he found her. He hesitated, for the first time thinking she might not want him here. But he was not leaving until she said the words.

His eyes never left her as she picked up one rock after another. A wet dog ran up to her causing his breath to catch in his throat before he realized the dog belonged to two children. Her pants were rolled up, her feet were bare, her hair blowing around her face. She looked well. His breath choked again as he realized she also looked happy.

He walked across the sand uncaring that water covered his shoes and splashed his legs. He was less than thirty feet from her when she turned. At first, she tilted her head to one side and swiped her hair behind one ear. The rock in her hand dropped. He saw her mouth form his name. A second later, she was running, saying his name, and smiling from ear to ear.

Grissom felt damp hair and tasted salty lips on his, hearing her words of "I love you" as she was in his arms. Long minutes passed as he remembered why he had driven all day to find her. She remembered why she had lived in Las Vegas.

"I've missed you every minute of the day," he whispered. "I waited too long to come." His arms held her tightly against his chest; he felt her warm breath against his neck. "Come back to me, Sara."

They parted so they could walk. She picked up shoes and jacket from the beach, never letting go of his hand.

"I had to leave, Gil. I—I was coming undone."

"I would have done anything."

She closed the space between them wrapping an arm around his waist, as his arm slid across her shoulders. "I know, but I needed time. I was chasing something that wasn't there."

"I'm here now."

She smiled as she pulled his face to hers. After she kissed him, she said, "You found me in the desert and now you've found me by the ocean." She kissed him again. "I was running away when I should have been running to you."

They walked back up the beach, saying nothing else, but wrapped in each other's arms. Rarely more than a minute would pass before he would kiss her again—her hand, the top of her head, her neck, her lips. When their lips met, they stopped walking and neither noticed the sunset across the horizon.

Sara gave a one-hand wave to the couple at the front desk. Grissom popped the trunk of his rental car and retrieved his one bag. The couple in the office smiled at each other; both relieved that their lonely guest had a visitor.

She opened the door of her rented room saying "It's small."

His response was "It's good." He knew how she hated motel rooms after watching her work too many crime scenes in similar places. Immediately, he saw she had personalized the room. The pillows were her own, as well as the sheets and blanket on the bed. The standard issue bedspread was gone. The room had one bed and a small sofa, a small refrigerator, a microwave, and a coffee pot. He could see the bathroom from the door. Just as she had replaced the motel's sheets, he knew she had also purchased her own towels.

Along the window she had placed several shells and rocks. On the bedside table, three paperback books were stacked. Beside the books was a photograph of him and their dog. Tears came to his eyes as he surveyed the simple furnishings of the room and meager possessions she had accumulated.

He quickly pulled her to him wrapping his arms around her yet he could not stop the choking heave that came from his chest. She had stayed here, alone, dealing with her ghosts. He had remained in the comfort of their home surrounded by things she had selected while she had chosen to be here. He did not understand but knew whatever had occurred was his fault, his lack of involvement, his selfish single-minded life.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

She heard the sound he made as her hands found his face. "I'm fine," she whispered, "I just had to leave." She kissed him and her fingertips touched his hair. "We'll be fine."

He desperately wanted to believe her words. "Sara, what can I do? I need to help you."

Her hands remained in his hair as she slightly pulled away from him. "You have. I'm on leave with pay. You've given me time I needed."

"Why here?"

She looked around the room perhaps seeing it as he did. "This is where I stopped." She shrugged her shoulders. "It was what I needed—no complications. The positive side of boredom is a lot of time to think." She turned to pick up one of her books. "Plus I'm reading romance novels." She grinned as she opened the book. "Lots of heavy breathing and handsome men and beautiful women. And the girl always gets the right guy. And you can go right to sleep in mid-paragraph."

She backed away toward the bathroom. "Let me change my pants and we'll go eat." She pointed as his shoes. "You might want to change too."

Grissom knew she was better; she was smiling and talking. He was not sure he was. He slipped off his shoes and found his second pair in his bag. He watched as she changed into dry jeans. His thoughts turned to what she was wearing, or what she wasn't.

She saw his look. "Eat first." She giggled. "We have Mexican and the café if we walk. Better selection of fast food if we drive. Is fast food ever better? And all close at 10:00. So change your shoes, Gilbert."

In a few short sentences, she had shown him how much she had improved in a month. He knew he had not heard her giggle in six weeks; he knew she had not called him Gilbert in at least that long. His wet shoes were off and the dry ones on his feet. "I'm ready, Miss Sidle. Show me the way."

"Mexican. The café has good breakfast food."

With that, they were back outside and walking. He held her close. "I've missed you, dear."

She nodded her head. "I've missed you more than you know. I know leaving like I did was—was foolish, but I had to go. I hated what was happening to me, to us."

Grissom's arm remained around her shoulders. "Let's talk about this later. I'm starved. Sometime today I think I ate, but it was hours ago."

The Mexican restaurant was typical of thousands owned by a family. The pretty daughter met customers at the front door while half a dozen brothers or cousins cooked and served food. Their waiter knew Sara, brought her chips and salsa, and handed Grissom a menu. Sara ordered "her regular dinner" while he ordered the nightly special.

When plates arrived, he knew why she had gained much needed weight. Not only were servings huge, she ate everything—her salad, the cheese enchiladas, the beans and rice, the chips with guacamole.

"You look good." He told her as she tucked into her plate of food.

"How's Hank?"

Grissom smiled at her as she asked about the dog. "He misses you greatly—almost as much as I do. Catherine and Lindsay are keeping him while I'm gone."

"How is everyone?" She quietly asked. She had made no contact with anyone since she left.

He told her. Greg's anger has calmed a little in the past week or so. He covered everyone, even Wendy and Hodges. He did not tell her about Warrick's problems but went into great detail about several other cases including the bull and the rodeo. He did not tell her about the poem; he had a copy to show her.

In the darkness of a small town, they walked back to the motel. By ten o'clock, the streets were quiet. Lights were dimmed, yet open windows let the sounds of conversations or televisions drift out to mingle with the sound of the ocean's surf just beyond the street.

"It's so quiet," Grissom remarked as they walked.

Sara agreed. "I needed quiet, Gil. I needed time to think."

He dare not ask if she was ready to leave. He was afraid of her answer.

She opened the door of her room. The simple furnishings appeared not quite so bleak on his second entrance. She had always said she was low maintenance which made him think that he must be the 'high maintenance' person in their relationship. She took his coat and worked on something for several minutes in the small closet.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Making room for your clothes." She turned holding a hanger. "I—I don't have a spare hanger."

"Come here, Sara." He held out his hand and took a step. She came to him.

Her hand traced the features of his face that she had known for nearly ten years and in the past month, she had missed more than any thing else she had ever known. Sara touched his eyebrow, his nose, his chin, and finally his lips with slow moving fingertips. Grissom's hand stroked her hair, moving along her neck, down the center of her back. The blue eyes locked into hers.

Somewhere he heard the clack of wind chimes as his hand curved around her hip and found the front of her jeans. Her hands moved to the front of his shirt as she worked each button and found his belt. His hands had moved underneath her own shirt. Without a word, the light was switched off, his clothes never made it to the hanger, and all the sadness and loneliness and unfulfilled desire of the past weeks evaporated.

Sara woke to find a head against her chin; a head of curling brown and grey hair. His breath warmed her skin. This was what she had missed, what she knew she would never find again if she lived to be one hundred. She had never loved any man before Gil Grissom. She had sex, of course, but not love, not this obsession, these feelings of passion that carried her over some great waterfall landing her in mist clouds wanting more—more of him, the way he touched her when making love.

In the weeks away from him, she remembered his comment at a crime scene months before. She played it over and over in her mind. She made him happy. She was stunned into silence when he said it. When her world was falling apart, when she was under that car and when she wandered in the desert, all she could think about was him. He was happy with her. Her life had never been happy; her parents were never happy. She did not know if she could define the word; yet he had simply said it in an unexpected place and time.

He had found her. He had stayed with her in the hospital. He had made gentle love to her in the nights that followed. He had to tell her that the entire lab knew about them—even Ecklie who was demanding an investigation and hearing. Nick, Warrick and Catherine came around individually saying they had noticed a difference, never asking why she had not told them. Greg was the one who said he knew and smiled and kept it secret as to how or when he knew they were a couple. He also said she was too good for their boss, and he would love her forever. She was almost certain he was kidding.

She changed shifts; no one wanted to see Grissom move from graveyard. It would affect fewer people if she moved. As days passed, she knew she was heading towards burnout. She returned to her past, her father's death, her mother's indifference, her foster care. How could Grissom be happy with her when she could not be happy about herself.

Sara kissed the top of his head. She wanted him awake, to love her again. Their lovemaking was slower, gentler. More of waves washing ashore with a gentle breeze than the thunderous waterfall of before. He touched her in those secret places that made her breathing stop until his lips touched hers. Finally, when he knew she was content he surrendered to her. His blue eyes darkened as she held his face in her hands. His eyes closed and a smile played across his face.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

His quiet words were the first spoken between them since she woke him, "I love you, Sara. More than you know, more than I show you. Come home with me. Whatever it takes, I'll make it right."

She moved so they could lay side-by-side. "I know you do." Her hand stayed on his face. "I can't go back, Gil."

He quickly moved to see her face. "Sara, do you mean me or work or Las Vegas."

"I mean work. I don't know about Vegas yet. I do know I want you." Tears filled her eyes. "Do you want me?"

"Yes." He wiped her tears. "Don't cry. Talk to me." He knew she found it difficult to talk about herself and especially her feelings. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close with her face against his neck. He also knew that she had never been held as a young child and in the past had sought his touch as a lover. It had taken him months to realize how much she wanted him to hold her. "Tell me."

To many people, talking after sex was easy. Not for her; Sara could drop off to sleep as quickly or she would get up and work while Grissom slept. She knew she was venerable. She took a deep breathe. He said he loved her. He had come so far; he should hear her words.

In the darkness of the room, a single tear fell from her eye. "I don't like this—talking about myself. My feelings. Once after my mother killed my dad, I was sent to talk to this doctor—psychiatrist, I'm sure. I went three times and never said a word to him. After that, they gave up and I never went again." She brought in a gulp of air.

Grissom kept his hands on her. "I'm not a psychiatrist, Sara."

Her chest moved rapidly for three breaths. "Maybe you should be if you want to live with me." She backhanded her eyes to stop the tears. "I hate being depressed about my work, feeling as if I have no control, that what I'm doing results in nothing good. I know you can let it go, but I can't." She struggled to find words. "A long time ago, someone let me go." Her tears broke through her resolve not to cry. She sobbed into his shoulder. "There was no one that cared about me—a kid. I was shuffled off to a foster system so overwhelmed that I was a number stacked in a rack of beds until I was seventeen." Tears flowed as water from a faucet. "And it's worse now. I can't get past the horror of what happens, of what people do to each other. The bad guys are winning, Gil. I need to be away from the dead. I need to see a movie and read a book with a happy ending. I need time to remember that life is more than violence and death and psychopaths and serial killers and crazy mothers." Her entire body shook as she wept.

He continued to hold her close deciding to let her tears flow with her words.

"I drove until I could not go further. This is where I stopped. I found a quiet place. I have not heard an alarm or a siren in three weeks. People have been kind to me. Even the owners here--the first night, they knew I—I was running away. I guess in this business you learn to watch for crazies. Bud—that's his name—sat with me outside this room the second night I was here. He never asked me anything, just talked to me about fishing.

"The waitress at the café gave me a book to read, and a second book, and that stack belongs to her. She reads two or three a week—all totally predictable. You'll get to meet them tomorrow. They are good people. No one can remember the last real crime in this town. By accident I found a place where the bad guys are not winning. Of course, it's so boring here that the young people leave. There is no doctor, no library, even the school is twenty miles away." Her breathing was easier; her tears had stopped flowing.

She continued, "I'm not sure I can go back to Vegas." She sighed. "And you're there."

He gently wiped her face. "Where ever you are Sara, I will be. We can work something out." He felt her face turn to his. "Going back to Vegas, going back to your job is all optional. I want you happy. I want to be happy with you. If you decide to stay here or some other place, I'll be with you." He kissed her. "I may have to go to work, but you decide where we will live." He pulled her to him. "I promise to do whatever it takes to make your life what you want it to be, hopefully, with me."

Sara curled against him. "Hold me tonight."

He did. She had been truthful telling him that she was sleeping eight hours at night. He woke twice finding his arms wrapped around her. Each time he stayed awake trying to work out all she told him until the surf and quietness lulled him back to sleep.

The shower was going when he reached for Sara and found the bed empty. He was up quickly and in the bathroom, pulling the curtain back to find her shampooing her hair. He stepped in behind her.

"Hey, let me do that." He took the bottle from her hand.

She turned, putting her head on his shoulder. "I love you, Gil. I've missed you so much."

Water covered both as they took turns with soap and shampoo. He stepped out first, wrapping a towel around his waist and holding another for Sara. He did not do it often, but as she came out of the shower, he picked her up backing to the bed with her legs locked around him. She giggled as he fell on the bed beneath her.

Much later, they dressed and walked to breakfast. He met the waitress who had loaned her the books. The owner appeared with fresh bread wrapping several slices for Sara to take with her. Again, Grissom tasted food that had helped Sara recover a few pounds she had lost in the preceding weeks and met strangers who had shown kindness when she was alone.

Afterwards, they walked along the main street looping back to a small fishing wharf where several boats were offloading their catch. Sara explained the 'free fish' advertising at the motel; the owner's brother caught and processed fish, smoking and canning it, selling some and providing the free fish offer at the motel.

They ended up on the north side of town, finding a path to the beach.

"This is what I've done every day. It's peaceful here." She kept her hand in his as they made their way along a rocky trail. "I think my mind is finally at rest."

He did not want to ask about her plans, instead he talked about the weather, the ocean, the tides, anything that came up to put off or avoid saying what needed to be said. After an hour of walking, she pulled the bread from her pocket, offering him half of it as they turned back.

"Look." She pointed across the water. "Watch for whales beyond the rocks." In a few minutes, he did see a tail then disturbed water. "I watched for a week before I saw one. Now I see several every day."

He watched the water for a few more minutes, and then turned to watch Sara. When she realized he was watching her, she ducked her head and grinned.

"Sara," his hand touched her face, "I don't care where you live, I will be there. You make me a better person—I don't think I've ever said that to you."

She shook her head, her dark eyes bright. The return walk took longer. She pointed out other paths up to the road and rocks with ledges that provided a seat and birds nesting on outcrops. By the time they climbed the trail to her motel, it was almost noon.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"I'll let you read one of my romance novels, if you want."

Grissom laughed as he stretched on the bed. "I think I'll skip that offer. I have my own. Look in my bag." She found the book; his big Shakespeare one that weighed five pounds.

"I can't believe you carried this heavy book." She noticed the folded paper. "What's this?"

He smiled. "Something I want to read to you." He unfolded the paper. She joined him on the bed, wrapping her arm across his chest. He read her the cowboy poem.

"Are you sure he's writing about the bull?" She asked when he explained his thoughts.

"I do."

She giggled. "You need to read romance novels. That poem is about a girl! And the bull is no girl." She read the poem again.

Sara folded the paper as he said, "If I wrote this, it would be about a girl."

He heard her heavy sigh as her head came to rest on his chest. "I love you, Grissom." She gave a tiny chuckle. "I don't call you that much, do I?"

"What else is troubling you, honey?"

She was quiet for some time. He moved his hand through her hair. "Can you really love me, Gil? Knowing I'm such a wreck? Knowing my father was an abuser, my mother—she doesn't even like me—killed my father. Knowing all this?" She could hear his steady heartbeat as she talked. "I can't go back to work. Can you still live with me?"

Her fears about her parents were not unknown to him. He had not taken enough time to assure her that these fears did not matter to him. He was determined that would change. "You know I love you. I don't care who your parents are or what they did. You are Sara. Not only do I want to live with you—I want to marry you. Whenever you decide it's time.

"You never knew my parents, but you love me. I love you the same way. Your genes gave you those brown eyes I love so much, but a lot of you are what you've decided to be, not what your parents did."

They lay in silence wrapped together; she could hear his heart beat; he could feel her slow steady breathing as she relaxed against him.

"Are you still having nightmares?" He asked quietly.

Her head moved. "Not for a week or so. I'm sleeping so much better. Maybe my clock has reset or daylight has helped." Twice she started a word, but stopped.

"Tell me."

"I do have dreams that I remember, but they don't wake me."

"What are you dreaming?"

She raised her head from his chest and rolled to look at him. Outside she heard a bird and the wind chimes and, far away, music played. "I dream of children. Playing and laughing children. I've never had dreams like that. I don't remember ever playing like that, but I dream about it. In a way, it's comforting, but its puzzling." Her head returned to his chest.

"If you sleep, then it's good." Simple dreams, he thought. "You have always been good with kids." He remembered the times he had seen her work with children at crime scenes, holding a hand or offering gum, or just sitting quietly. "You know, maybe we should have kids." This was a subject neither had brought up.

Sara's breathing stopped. He did not think she could hold her breath for longer than a few minutes, but it seemed she did.

"Us?" she asked. "I can't even decide where to live."

He gave a small laugh. "We can get married first. I'm sort of old-fashioned about that part." He ignored her comment about where to live. They could work that one out.

She rolled again to look at him, smiling. "Living in sin all these months and you still want to get married." His eyebrow arched. "Don't give me that look." She lifted off the bed, pulled her knees under her chin and wrapped arms around her legs. "I never thought I would marry. I've never thought about having kids. I guess you have to have some kind of childhood memories to want children."

"Sara," Grissom's hand wrapped around hers, "We make our own memories. Neither one of us have families of our own. Catherine once said we were making a family at work regardless of what I thought—and we have. Come home with me. We'll make a family."

She remained beside him, her eyes blinking rapidly as she looked away. "Gil, I need a while longer. I can't go back to Vegas. I need a little more time." She looked around the room. "I know this is nothing like your place, but I need time to clear my head."

"Our place, Honey. It's our place. Everywhere I look I see you. I want you there, with me." He stopped talking until she looked at him. "But I want you happy, too. If it means you stay here, or decide to live some where else, then I want you to do it. If you can't come back, I'll come to you." He took her hand and held it to his lips.

Her head dropped to her knees. "I'm not sure I can ever be happy, Gil."

"Yes, we will. A lot has happened to you in a short while. You're strong. You need time to recover." He kept her hand in his. "Remember this—I don't say it enough—I love you, I want to marry you, I want to live with you. I want you happy, smiling, and I want to hear that giggle."

"You are to good to me."

He pulled himself up in bed, plumping a pillow behind his back. "Move over here." He brought her around to sit between his legs, both arms wrapping around her. "In the past month, you have not been the only one given time to think. You have been the one giving everything to this relationship; I've been the one taking. I am determined to change this."

She started to say something, but his finger on her lips stopped her. He continued. "You gave up your apartment. You gave up dating. You gave up your friends when you gave up your job. I put you in jeopardy and almost lost you for it. I should have taken care of our work situation months ago." He held her against his chest. "No more, Sara, I promise."

They stayed together hearing outside noises that were quiet sounds that did nothing to disturb their thoughts. His thoughts were of the peaceful place she had found by accident. She was playing his words again in her mind. Grissom reached for one of her books.

"Don't read that, read yours."

He smiled and opened the heavy Shakespeare book. He had read from this same book the first time they spent the night together. He had copied the words he could not form for feelings he had for her from this book. "What do you want to hear?"

Sara snuggled closer so he could rest his book on her knees. "The sonnets. No, read _Much Ado_—I think that's my favorite."

She felt his silent laugh as he said, "That one is almost a romance novel." He read the words of the long-dead English poet with the woman he loved curled against his heart. They would be fine, he thought. Their bond was not broken; time was what they needed and his determination to make things right was strong.

Ending his reading, he closed the book. He was stiff from remaining in the same place. "I've got to move, sweetie. I feel like I've concrete in my knees." She was young enough to be unaffected by inactivity and quickly brought herself up.

"I'm sorry." She pulled him up as his knees popped.

"Old age."

She giggled. He used this excuse from time to time. "Only when you want to be."

They returned to the café for lunch. They drove miles up the coastline, stopping to climb to a rocky overlook, finding whale watchers by the dozen lined up with binoculars and cameras. They continued on their drive and near nightfall found a place to eat. They talked; Sara sang along with the radio as they returned to her motel room.

Grissom asked if she needed money; she did not. He knew she had taken money with her and she had not used a debit or credit card since leaving.

That night, sleep came as welcome rest. Their lovemaking was that of long time lovers familiar with the intimate needs and desires of each other. She was always surprised at how this man could create passion in her. He was almost always overwhelmed by her desire to please him; at times he would remind her to let go, to come with him in that rushing waterfall of pleasure. Tonight she did.

Morning sun peaked around blinds as Grissom felt feet touching his and hands in his hair. "You awake?" He knew she was when he asked.

"Mmmm, I am." She had pulled on his shirt sometime in the night. "How long can you stay?" She knew he would return to work finding all he left plus more on his desk.

"Another day or so. That's why I left Hank with Catherine." He watched her stretch long arms and legs across the bed. "Why don't we get married?"

"We will. Maybe we should plan a big wedding with you in a tux and twelve bridesmaids."

It was Grissom's turn to laugh. "I could sell tickets to that—twelve bridesmaids and you in a fancy dress." They both laughed at the thought.

"I really am much better, Gil. I want to stay here a while, not forever. I really would like to see my mother again."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Damn the woman, Grissom thought. The one person whose approval Sara sought would not take the time to spend a meaningful hour with her. He had tried for months to dissuade her attempts to work out some kind of relationship with her mother. He knew it was hopeless. When she left Las Vegas, he was certain she was going to see her mother.

Sara's mother had one purpose and it was not to care for her daughter. The woman called when she needed something—usually money. She called when she had no one else, not often but enough to put Sara into an emotional freefall. At least once she had visited Las Vegas. The daughter clung to the belief that her mother would love her if—and there were a thousand of those. He had called her mother after the abduction. The mother's one question was 'Is she still alive?' Hanging up the phone, Grissom was almost sick. There was no compassion in the voice, no concern, just a cold question translated in his mind to 'money.'

He told Sara he left her mother a message. Sara knew she would not hear from her unless money was involved. A hundred times he had been relieved that the two had worked out power of attorney and surrogate issues shortly after Brass had been shot. Sara's next of kin would have written her off for an insurance policy.

"Would you let me go with you?" he asked, not sure what he would do or say; at least he would be there.

Sara hated this part of her life. Whatever history she had with her parents was long forgotten. She remembered a foster mother better than she remembered her own mother who was the woman who tried to cash in her daughter's college scholarship. She was the woman who asked Sara to take a job in San Francisco, sharing a bank account and took every paycheck for six months. A mother who lost so much money gambling in one weekend that it took Sara's savings and two years of loan payments to pay it off. A month ago, she asked her daughter for money and Sara turned and left the house.

In the days and nights that followed, Sara decided she needed to make one more visit to her mother's house before she could put these ghosts of the past where they belonged.

Sara nodded her head. "Why is she this way? I just want to know her, to be a daughter. Is that too much?"

Grissom translated her words. "Sara, some times we can't change people. We can't change history. I don't think your mother will ever change." He wanted to tell her how her mother used her, but had done this on countless occasions to no avail. Sara knew this, but thought if she did one more thing her mother would recognize her as worth loving. That's what Sara needed, her mother to love her.

"I can meet you in a few days. We can visit your mom together, spend some time in San Francisco." He pulled her to him. "We could get married, city hall, nothing fancy, just you and me." He felt her sigh.

"We should do that."

"Get married?" He was not sure what she had agreed to do.

Sara's lips met his with a prolonged, deep kiss. When she pulled away, she said, "Yes." She folded into his arms. "We can get married. I—I have some things I want to do."

"Can you do these things after we get married?"

She nodded her head. "I want to visit a few people if I can find them, go see my old boss, find where my father is buried." Her brown eyes met his blue ones. "The usual things one does after getting married."

"We'll do what you want to do." He touched her chin. "I want you happy."

She nodded again. "I'm happy with you. I'm sorry I left like I did."

"Let's put that behind us. I am so sorry I wasn't paying attention. I'm making you a promise to take care of you, to give more to you." He chuckled softly. "If I fail, I want you to say the name of this town—that's all you have to say. Call it our 'safe' word."

Sara was quiet a full minute. "Gil, is that something you learned from Heather?"


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

This time he was quiet. "No." His hands brushed her hair. "I'm sorry about Heather, Sara. You believe me that we were never intimate."

"I know." He felt her smile before he saw her face. "I just like to see you try to explain what everyone thought."

The afternoon had passed when they left the room. Sara knew they would find good food at the café and neither minded eating at there again. Afterwards, they walked along the beach in the dark with the moon giving light to whitecaps whipped up by a strong wind; the sound of surf the only noise.

They agreed to meet in four days in San Francisco. He would return to Las Vegas tomorrow. Four days and they would marry.

The next morning, Sara stood in the doorway of her motel room and watched him drive away. Her mind no longer stuck in an endless cycle of questions with no answers, she smiled as she waved. He smiled until he could no longer see her, then called her on the phone to tell her how much he missed her. She laughed.

"Drive carefully. I'll see you soon. Don't forget where you are to be four days." She promised to visit her mother after he returned. He asked for her favorite place in San Francisco—she rapidly named five places. She would show him all five and more, she promised.

In twenty-four hours, she said goodbye to the town and its people leaving as quietly as she had arrived. She packed everything she had in her trunk and still had space. The owners of the motel waved as she left after she promised to return. Her drive to San Francisco was much more enjoyable and directed than the mindless wandering of her trip nearly a month ago. She toured a winery, stopped at an organic farm, and spent one night at a bed and breakfast.

Grissom called her every few hours. He made reservations at a small hotel and forbid her to use her own sheets or towels. He would arrive early; he was taking a week of leave.

Greg picked Grissom up at the airport immediately aware of the change in his boss. Wasting no time, the young man launched into a dozen questions. "How is Sara? Is she coming back? When is she coming back?" Before Grissom could answer, he asked the same questions again.

Grissom smiled at his enthusiasm. Greg had long ago passed the shyness factor in his ability to ask questions. He had been unable to contain his frustrations and anger when Sara left until Grissom cornered him. In that conversation, Grissom realized how much Sara meant to Greg. Today, Greg became the first to hear.

"Getting married! Here? When? Do we get invited?"

His disappointment was apparent when Grissom answered with "San Francisco, a few days, just the two."

Within minutes of sitting behind his desk, paperwork piled a foot high, three others joined Greg in wanting to hear about Sara and almost as quickly, they knew about marriage plans.

Catherine was the first to object. "You can't do this! We all want to be there! We are family—what are you thinking?"

Grissom shook his head. "It's what she wants."

Jim Brass came in late to the conversation, caught up in mid-sentence by Nick. "Grissom is finally marrying Sara."

Grissom tried explaining that it was Sara's reluctance to get married that had postponed a wedding until now. Her friends readily believed his version; however Catherine insisted that no woman really wanted a city hall wedding. She kept after Grissom until he agreed to phone Sara and ask if she wanted a ceremony elsewhere. Sara was adamant; she did not.

An hour before he left, the same five people stood around his desk. Catherine was delegated spokesperson.

"I've worked out a plan," she began. "You just have to go along with it." He sat open-mouthed as she explained what they were going to do. Outsmarted or exhausted from all that had happened in the past week, he agreed.

In San Francisco, Sara found the hotel, small, ultra-high end, and so expensive they did not put the price on the registration form she signed. Every morning, a hot beverage of her choice was delivered within minutes of her requested time. Her first day, she shopped for a new outfit deciding she would not get married in jeans. The second day, she found the cemetery where her father was buried and in the ordered lines of grave markers, she found the simple white one naming her father.

In the days she had spent alone, she had realized Grissom was right. She could move into the future; the past could not be changed. Her anxieties had lessened; Grissom still wanted to marry her.

She smelled his presence before she opened her eyes. He was moving quietly around the room trying not to wake her.

"Hey, I'm awake."

He joined her in bed. "I was trying to be quiet." In the next few hours, they talked, made love, and laughed; all before going to visit her mother.

Walking up the narrow sidewalk, Grissom whispered, "I love you, Sara." She smiled.

As expected, her mother had not changed. Grissom kept his hand at Sara's back while the two women talked in circles. Her mother gave an excited approval of their marriage plans; Grissom recognized the tone as one does lies. She launched into plans of her own—to help Sara, to visit her, to do all the things a mother might do, but this one would never do. When told they planned to marry the next day at city hall, her mother's complaints increased from the simple 'It's to much to go downtown' to the more complex of crowds and parking and multiple reasons that she would not be there.

Grissom stood to leave, bringing Sara up with him. "We hope you will come, but if you can't, we understand," he said. "I love Sara very much. She loves me even more." He pulled a business card from his pocket. "Here's how to reach us." Leaving, he pulled the door firmly closed. "You did great, honey."

Sara smiled. "It was easier with you. Thanks."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The rest of their day was spent doing what thousands of visitors do every day in San Francisco. They rode an open-top sight seeing bus and acted as typical tourists, eating chocolate in a candy store, eating fortune cookies at a factory and riding a cable car. In a small jewelry store they found two plain gold rings.

He had made an appointment at city hall so they would not have to wait in line. The next morning, nervous as a cat in a strange place, he dressed in a suit and waited for Sara who was surprised at how serenely calm she was. She had found pants and a shirt in a blue and white print appropriate, she thought, for marrying an entomologist; blue butterflies and flowers cascaded down each leg. When he saw her, the smile on his face was enough to tell her she had made a good choice. Of course, he was not thinking about her clothes at all.

On the drive, it was Sara who took his moving hands and held them between her own. She wore a gold band for him on her thumb; he kept touching his pocket for her ring.

"I didn't think I would be so nervous," he admitted before stepping out of the cab. She waited while he paid the driver and as the car drove away, she saw his eyes move from her to something behind her right shoulder and he smiled. She turned around.

Coming down the steps, dressed for a wedding, smiles on faces, were Catherine, Greg, Warrick, and Nick. Jim Brass took her hand. "You can't get married without someone to give you away." He kissed her cheek. Tears formed in her eyes as each man hugged her as she tried to form questions.

Catherine was last to hug her, turning to Grissom saying, "We made it with time to spare. I'll be your best woman!" She held out her hand as he found Sara's ring and placed it in her hand.

Brass' handkerchief blotted Sara's eyes. Everyone was talking at once. Finally, Sara's question was answered. Greg, doing the talking, explained, "Catherine has ties to some big players now. Sam Braun had dibs on a private jet and that's how we got here!" His hands swooped in. "And we have to return today because," he raised eyebrows, "the boss would not give us the day off because he wants to be gone a week!"

Sara was speechless. She turned to Grissom as he raised his hands. "I could not stop them." His arms encircled her. "You're okay with this?"

She nodded. How could she be anything but happy? Nick handed her flowers. Greg produced an old coin as he said "Something old." Warrick pulled a slim blue ribbon from his pocket and wrapped it around her wrist for something blue. Catherine unclasped her necklace saying, "This is borrowed and you have a new ring."

Jim took her hand; Catherine wrapped an arm around each. Quickly, the group was inside, standing before a stranger who said the words heard by thousands before them; names were written on paper and just as quickly, the group was back outside.

Catherine made a phone call and a long limo pulled to the curb. "We have to celebrate!" She exclaimed. "We will not see this day again—and I'm talking about another wedding, guys." If anyone had been looking at the men, two blushed and Warrick refused to meet Catherine's eyes. Instead, they were all looking at Sara and Grissom who were only slightly aware they were not alone.

The limo took them to a restaurant overlooking the bay and for several hours, everyone talked as they ate food unlike the usual diner selection. An unspoken agreement kept them from asking questions about Sara's abrupt departure. No one referred to unsolved murders, or disappointing lab results or Warrick's suspension. This was the time for smiles and laughter.

Too soon, Catherine stood announcing they must leave for work. Greg said this would be the only time he got to work in a jet. They hugged Sara; shook hands with Grissom. Brass returned to hug both. "Take care of each other. Everything else will work out," he said. He hugged Sara saying, "You've always been special to me, Sara. We want to see you soon." He turned away quickly to hide the tears forming in his eyes.

The couple waved to their friends and laughed as Greg's head appeared in the sunroof quickly disappearing and replaced by Nick's until the car was no longer in sight.

"You were right to have them here." Sara said as they walked back to their hotel.

"It wasn't my idea. Catherine would not have it any other way. Once she told the others, I had no choice." He chuckled. "Especially when she got the plane. I don't even want to know what she did to get that worked out."

"They are family."

"Yeah, they are." He pulled her to him. "We have a week. Are you ready for married life, Mrs. Grissom?"

She could not believe she blushed as she felt heat rise across her face.

He smiled, "I know I've never made love to a married woman." She heard him laugh and very quietly he said, "I know there is a God in heaven who put you in my life."

Sara laughed with him. Her thoughts were not of God, but of the years and months it had taken for the two to get to this point in life.

Their days together passed in a haze of walking in late morning sun and cool evenings, of finding a vineyard and a winery, of entering a tunnel of greenery opening to flowers and birds and a view of the bay. Any time conversation turned to work, one or the other skillfully changed the topic.

Only in the quiet darkness of their bed would Grissom hear her fears and anxious worries of the past and future. He listened assuring and reassuring and unwavering with his support and encouragement. He let her talk and with one exception, she gradually soothed her own fears.

"I can't, Gil. I'm not ready to have a baby. I'm not sure I'd be a good mother."

"That's fine, honey. We have Hank. You are a good mother to him." His promises to take care of her included letting her make this decision.

They drove to Las Vegas knowing she would return to San Francisco alone. She had not budged in her resolution to stay in California for a 'few more days.' Grissom did not waiver in his decision to support her. She needed time and as hard as it was for him to watch as she packed a suitcase, he understood her need for solitude, to take a sabbatical, to retrace steps from a distant past. He knew her mother was no longer the driving force behind her need. She was looking at her past to help find her future.

They parted with a certain sadness of separation, but none of the heartbreak of previous weeks. She would return to him; perhaps neither would remain in Las Vegas. He was determined to let her decide the next part of their life. She spent days in San Francisco with Grissom flying to be with her on his days off; she flew to Las Vegas twice. He never questioned her decision to remain in the city by the bay.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Grissom left the diner knowing Sara would call before he went to sleep. She was at Berkeley with a former professor who had fond memories of an intelligent student named Sara Sidle. His current project had need of a researcher who could be flexible, who did not require much income, and who could work on her own. It was temporary, only for a month or so. Grissom understood.

When the phone rang, he never checked, just said 'hi'. The voice was not Sara, but Brass, telling him to get to the hospital quickly. Warrick was in route, severely injured. Nick was with him barely able to speak himself.

Catherine arrived within seconds of Grissom. Greg met them in the emergency room, the serious look on his face told Grissom more than words.

"Nick is with him. They called Tina. It's bad." Greg's words rushed out. "Two shots," he pointed to his neck and chest.

"Tina?" questioned Catherine.

Greg nodded. "Emergency contact. Nick refused to leave. That's all I know."

Grissom was unable to form a coherent thought. "How?" he finally got out. Greg shook his head.

The three remained in the emergency room joined by others as word spread of the shooting involving one of their own. Brass arrived with little more news. Nick joined them as Warrick was readied for surgery. They sat in a row of chairs each replaying the previous hours. Nick stood as Tina came into the room, ashen face and standing alone. Catherine was furious; the divorce was final, but Tina was the one making decisions because Warrick had failed to remove her name from paperwork. Nick knew she had recently had a baby, the reason for the divorce.

Grissom's phone buzzed again. He moved to the hall to answer Sara's call dreading the thought of telling her what had happened. The unfamiliar noise or the tone of his voice or the few seconds before he said hello told her something was not right.

"It's Warrick, honey." He told her what little they knew. They were waiting. She said she was coming. He kept the phone to his ear after she hung up trying to keep a thread of connection to her.

They moved to a larger waiting room. People came. A few left and more came. Tina's friends arrived and people divided into two groups with Nick and Grissom standing in neutral ground, answering questions with no answers. Catherine was devastated. Greg remained at her side leaving only to get her something to drink. Hours crept by and condition updates trickled in yet nothing changed beyond the medical jargon for "he's holding on."

Sara walked in to see Nick, Jim and Grissom huddled in the center of the room. Catherine leaned against the wall with eyes closed, Greg near her elbow. She was shaken by the stark wide-eyed fear in four sets of eyes that lifted to see who opened the door. She was surprised when Grissom wrapped an arm around her then remembered their secret was no longer necessary.

As hours passed, people left and those who remained moved together. Nick and Grissom pulled Tina into the circle of friends. Three surgeons came in and discussed the complicated process taking place, drawing simple pictures, but unable to give a promising prognosis. They promised to return with news or change.

The door opened and a woman entered carrying a small sleeping baby. Tina rushed to the door taking the baby and a hushed conversation followed. Sara heard a sound from Catherine as Tina brought the baby into the room. Nick, always a gentleman, moved to give Tina more space. This was the baby that caused the divorce, Nick thought. Warrick said it was not his. Nick was never sure how Warrick knew this, but he took the word of his friend.

Conversation ceased for a minute or two then resumed at a quieter level as mother and baby settled on the short sofa. No one watched the clock or checked time any more; they were all waiting. The swing of the door brought every head up and words stopped.

"Mrs. Brown, we need you. Now." Tina quickly stood. "Quickly, come now." She still had the baby in her arms when the physician said, "Bring someone with you. Not the baby. You have to dress."

Tina turned to the nearest woman and placed the sleeping baby in Sara's arms. There was no time to waste as she took Nick's hand and said "Please come." In seconds they were gone. The baby stirred and curled into the angle of Sara's arm. She realized she had never held a baby so young or small or delicate.

In the quietness of the waiting room, the baby stretched a tiny arm and opened his eyes. Sara smiled as Warrick's eyes in the face of this baby met hers. She glanced up to find four people watching her as baby fingers wrapped around one of hers.

"He has his daddy's eyes." She said.

Catherine was first to lean forward. "Well, look at that." She looked at the men. "Did you know this?" She asked to no one in particular.

Grissom and Brass gave the shoulder shrug of the innocent. Greg found his voice. "I thought that's why they got the divorce. Tina got pregnant and Warrick said the baby wasn't his."

Sara's hand touched the baby's cheek and a baby gurgle followed by a dimpled smile caused her to smile again. "Warrick was wrong." She said.

Catherine had moved to watch the baby over Sara's shoulder. When the baby gurgled again, Catherine turned away. Brass caught her as she cried deep breathless sobs. Greg placed his hand on her back. Grissom watched Sara who was engrossed in holding the baby unaware of the scene going on behind her.

"He's not going to make it, is he, Gil?" Her voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper. The baby responded with another sound and waved tiny arms, content to have a strange woman cuddle him.

Grissom wiped his hand across his face. "I don't know, honey." He reached for the baby's hand, so small that little fingers were dwarfed by one of his.

"Gil," Sara's eyes met his blue ones, "I want one of these." Her eyes returned to the baby in her arms. "I've never held a baby before, not like this. He's part of Warrick; I know he is. I—I want one with you." She blinked back tears as the baby made sounds that brought their attention back to him. "Warrick needs to know he has a son."

Grissom's hand rested on her knee. In three minutes a maternal instinct had been turned on in his wife. He saw it in her face. He heard her words. She had her new direction, a new objective. He formed his words carefully. "We will, wife, we will." Come hell or high water, he would get her what she wanted. "Warrick will know. He has to pull through this."

The door opened again and Nick appeared, his face white. "Tina stayed with him." He took a seat beside Sara. "He doesn't look good, massive internal injuries, spinal injury." He pointed to his neck. "Missed his jugular by millimeters, shattered two vertebra, damage to the spinal cord. After that, I zoned out; lots more was said. Some paralysis on the right, don't know how much." Nick swiped the tears that had formed in his eyes. Catherine was crying behind Sara.

The baby made another babbling sound. "Tina's pretty torn up. She wants Warrick to see the baby. Heck, I didn't think it was his."

"Is he awake?" Sara asked.

"No, doesn't look like he will be for a long time. He's on…" Nick's hand moved on his chest. "My mind can't think…breathing…respirator, to help his lungs." He watched Sara play with the baby. "His name is Warren. Tina called her parents to come in."

"Hey, Warren. You look like your daddy." Sara spoke softly to the baby. Green eyes played between her face and other voices in the room. She carefully turned the infant around in her arms so Nick could see his face. "Look at those eyes and dimples and tell me who his father is."

Nick's eyes filled with tears. "Why would he say that?"

The door opened again and an older couple entered met by the eyes of adults who looked from them to the baby. "We've come for Warren," the man said. "We're Tina's parents."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Grissom was the first to respond by shaking their hands. Sara reluctantly handed the wiggling baby over to his grandmother. Each person introduced themselves and Sara gathered up the baby's blanket and carrier. Grissom walked with the couple as far as the elevator. When he returned, the group picked up an earlier conversation re-telling events of the previous twenty-four hours.

Another physician and Tina appeared in the doorway; the news was grim. Hours, if not days, would pass before a long-term prognosis would be determined. That he survived was just short of a miracle—the effects of trauma on a healthy young man worked in his favor. The skill of four surgeons worked another miracle. And another miracle would see recovery with minimal damage. The doctor held no hope for this third miracle; there would be substantial damage to the spinal cord. The patient would not or could not speak for weeks; damage to the trachea made speech recovery a distant goal. There was extensive tissue destruction in the abdomen. Surgery had attempted to stop major bleeding. Time would tell if it worked.

Tina, as Warrick's emergency contact, would have visiting privileges once an hour, no longer than ten minutes. A second person could go in every two hours. They divided the next few hours among them, Catherine, Nick, and Brass staying with Tina, Greg off in search of food, and Grissom and Sara left to return later. A cycle of waiting had begun.

Grissom left his vehicle at the lab and rode home with Sara. At last he could breathe without ragged breaths. Sara's hand closed over his as she drove. Neither said a word until they were inside their house.

"I can't remember leaving," he said.

Sara picked up the lease as the dog shook himself awake. "I'll walk Hank. Take a shower. I won't be long." She wasn't, returning to find Grissom leaning against the shower wall, steam filling the bathroom. She slipped into the shower with him. Silently, they wrapped arms around the other and stood for minutes without moving.

Finally, Grissom said, "We need to get some sleep. This is going to be a long process." He was certain he would not sleep for hours.

Sara wrapped a towel around him and did the same for herself. She had questioned for years which of the two men was Grissom's favorite. She had never been able to determine the answer.

She had dumped the contents of her bag on the bed and found Grissom hanging her clothes in the closet. "I'll do that," she said. He turned standing in the closet his face the image of grief. Tears welled in her eyes as he dropped her clothes and came to her.

"He will never be the same, Sara."

"I know."

"We were so happy, so proud of ourselves for getting him out of the Gedda murder. I never thought—none of us gave a thought to protecting him."

"Come to bed." She pulled covers back. She found a shirt and slipped it over her head.

She curled against him. His voice came in a whisper, "Did you really mean what you said?" He asked. "Holding Warrick's baby? Do you really want a baby?"

He heard a soft laugh. "I do. I've never experienced that feeling before. I want a baby. Is that maternal instinct?"

Grissom agreed with her. "I think it is. I saw a change in the way you looked." He wrapped an arm around her. I think I might be able to sleep." He yawned.

In minutes he was asleep, his head against her shoulder. Sara remained awake for some time thinking about Warrick, Tina and their baby. Neither she nor the others needed DNA to determine the father of the little green-eyed boy.

A ringing phone woke both of them, arms reaching to find a phone. Brass reported that Warrick was back in surgery. The couple was nearly dressed by the time Grissom hung up the phone. By the time they reached the surgery waiting room, the first condition report had come in—the bleeding had been stopped, this time. The surgeons were attempting to repair several other wounds at the same time.

Catherine, Nick and Tina had managed to nap between hourly visits—or at least close their eyes. None of them looked like they had slept in days yet twenty four hours had not passed since Warrick had been wounded. Greg arrived with food and drinks. Finally, the team of surgeons entered the room. As if a secret signal was given, anyone not associated with Warrick left the room.

"He's in recovery. Ventilator is breathing for him right now. His injuries are severe. Right now we are on a search and repair mission trying to stop blood loss. If we can do this, if he has no major organ failure, if there are no unexpected setbacks, we hope to see improvement in another twenty-four hours." The surgeon looked grim.

A second physician explained the next procedure and the steps being taken to protect Warrick's spinal cord. She looked equally dismal. The third physician asked who was responsible for making certain life and death decisions—Tina's hand went up. This physician asked for a private conversation.

She turned to Grissom, extending her hand to his. "Would you come with me?" she asked.

The two disappeared with the physicians. Greg was the first to ask, "What do they want her to do now?"

Sara had seen the man's name tag. Organ donation. When no one answered Greg's question, he asked again. Obviously, Nick and Catherine were too upset to answer or to comprehend his question. Sara had never seen Catherine in this condition, even after her ex-husband had died or her father had been shot in front of her.

Sara pulled Greg to a corner. Sitting beside him, she told him what the physician wanted. Until now, she had managed to keep her composure, but saying the words to Greg caused tears to spill from her eyes as she choked on her words. The young man took her hand in his and closed his eyes as he leaned his head back.

"You know, Sara, that's what I would want if it was me."

Nick had joined them leaving Catherine with Brass. He needed sleep but refused to leave the hospital. His mind had been working in overdrive for hours. "We need to find out who did this. I don't believe it was some punk random shooting."

The subject changed, Greg leaned forward. "Who says it is?"

While they were gone, Nick reported, Under Sheriff McKean had been in, saying the day shift was working the case. He had several incidents of gang violence near the diner and was working on the presumption that Warrick's shooting was related.

Sara asked, "What type of gang violence?"

"Not guns. Knives, property damage, that sort of thing. Doesn't make sense that they would change tactics. Nothing was taken from Warrick. He was in his car; he let the window down."

"His window was down?" Greg asked.

Nick nodded his head. "His window was down." Nick stated again. Sara and Greg looked at each other then Nick.

Sara said what they had just realized. "He talked to someone."

Nick nodded again. "I'm not telling anyone else this, but I've thought about it for hours. Warrick would never let that window down unless he knew who was there."

Grissom and Tina returned to the waiting room with Tina barely able to stand upright without the support of Grissom. He gently helped her to a chair between two of her friends.

He found Sara across the room and came to sit beside her. He glanced around the room seeing Catherine who had finally gone to sleep, her head against Brass' shoulder as he talked on the phone.

A long breath of air escaped his lungs as he sat down and reached for Sara's hand. "This gets more complicated by the minute." Nick, Greg, and Sara waited for him to continue. "Warrick signed organ donor forms several years ago. There is always a problem with organ donation when there has been a crime involved. But that can be worked out. The other form is the living will. Warrick signed one not to prolong his life under artificial conditions."

Greg was the first to ask, "What does that mean?"

"That's the complicated part. He's on the ventilator now. The physician thinks that he can breathe on his own—they hope—in a few days. If Tina was still his legal wife, she could make the decision to override the form, but she isn't. He has no next of kin."

They were quiet for several minutes. "He has next of kin." Sara said very softly. "Warren—the baby. Can't Tina make decisions as the legal guardian of the next of kin?"

Grissom's face remained grim, but his eyebrow lifted slightly. He looked at Greg. "You need to find a smart woman and marry her." He returned to Tina saying a few words before leaving. Nick had taken a pillow and stretched across the floor. In minutes his deep breathing meant he was asleep.

Sara and Greg talked about what they had heard from Nick. Neither believed the gang related shooting story. They watched as Brass tenderly arranged Catherine's sleeping head on a pillow, slipped off his jacket and covered her.

Greg whispered, "I've never see Brass without his suit on." Sara elbowed him as the man joined them stepping over Nick's sleeping form.

Brass flipped open his ever-present pocket notebook.

"Jim," Sara asked quietly, "Why did Tina and Warrick divorce? Nick said Tina's baby wasn't Warrick's, but that's not true."

He moved again so his back was to Tina and her friends across the room. In whispers, he told them his version of events, pieced together from comments from Warrick. An argument, a few nights apart, another argument, an unplanned pregnancy, and another argument with one thing said that could not be forgotten, and a quick divorce. Tina had tried several times to talk with Warrick, but he refused to see her.

The two were listening so intently to Brass that they missed Grissom's return until he was sitting beside them. The three turned to him.

"The powers that be are working on it. As the mother of his child, she can negate the living will or something like that keeping him on the ventilator. Now if Warrick can pull off the survival miracle."

Brass still had his notebook open. "We need to work out a rotation; one or two of us needs to be here—all the time."

They gave him a questioning look. He continued, "Someone nearly killed Warrick Brown and that someone is among us, someone he knew. He can't talk and whoever tried to kill him will try again."

Grissom had been out of the room when Nick related the official investigation statement of a gang related shooting. He listened intently as Brass shared notes on the case. The two men sat together and discussed everything they knew. Greg left and brought back enough coffee for everyone. Nick and Catherine continued to sleep. Tina had gone to sleep between two of her friends.

People came by, talked, and left. Recovery nurses regularly reported the condition of their patient and hours after surgery, moved Warrick to intensive care. Essentially, there was no change for better or worse. Nick and Catherine left, changed clothes and returned. Tina asked Grissom to go in with her when visitors were allowed for a short ten minutes.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

_A/N: Warning—this is a sad chapter. Skip to Chapter 14 if you do not want to see what happens to Warrick. And we are not going to write another one like this!!_

The group waited, checking watches as ten minutes became twenty, watching the door. Conversation ceased when Grissom appeared, his face aged with anguish. He looked at the ten people watching him and he shook his head.

"They are letting us come in, quickly. He's—he's going."

A collective sound reflected around the room as hands touched and silent words formed prayers or requests or wishes to an unseen authority. Grissom motioned his hands to Tina's friends as Warrick's five long-time friends and co-workers stood in shocked silence. He knew Tina's friends would take care of her; his team, he thought, his team had just begun to function without Sara and now this.

Sara was the first to reach him, saying, "Go with Catherine. I'll go with Nick." He understood. The person who always showed him the most compassion, the one person who found it so difficult to let things go also knew how to deal with the living.

They left the waiting room as one; Nick between Sara and Greg, Catherine between Grissom and Brass. Tina was in one corner surrounded by her friends and several co-workers. One by one Warrick's best friends said a private farewell, touching his hand, a gentle caress of his face, a loving stroke on his shoulder, and, perhaps, most poignant, was the handshake done by Greg as he slipped his hand into that of the unconscious patient, saying "Goodbye, friend."

Grissom remained behind as the others left. Someone moved a chair near the bedside. Sara returned to find him holding Warrick's hand, his head leaning against the bed. She slipped an arm around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. The machines hissed and clicked slowly forcing air into lungs no longer able to function, making the only sound in the room.

Men and women dressed in scrubs came into the room. One said, "It's time to move him."

Grissom's hand released the one on the bed and found Sara's. The bed and patient moved out of the room; the patient was now a donor. Sara sucked in deep breaths slowly and deliberately. She heard words of 'brain death' and 'intracranial hemorrhage' from the professionals working around her.

Quietly, they left the couple alone pulling a curtain and closing blinds as the crying man they knew only as the patient's friend went to his knees with the woman beside him. They saw death on a regular basis but the sight of such intense and emotional grief was more than any could watch. One nurse, more observant than others, had seen the man move his hand in the familiar Catholic sign of the cross the first time he approached the patient. This nurse called the hospital priest.

The long process of mourning had begun. And with this process, the living continued. Dr. Robbins would not consider having someone else perform an autopsy; he was assisted by three surgeons whose skills had taken what could be donated but had kept wounded tissue as evidence.

Brass stayed with Catherine as she slept and her mother and daughter moved silently around their house, finally convincing Brass to sleep. His mind worked overtime as he passed from the loss of his friend to the questions around the events leading to his death.

Greg mourned at work, joined the next day by Nick who found details of other crimes forced the events of the previous days into their subconscious, at least for a while. Told by the sheriff and lab director that Warrick was not their case, they were still able to convince others to provide copies of all evidence reports, of lab work, of anything related to Warrick's case.

Sara took Grissom home. She was not religious but the priest's words seem to help her husband. In grief, they made love without saying a word, slowly releasing emotions of deep sadness as they found certain contentment in togetherness. He finally slept.

It was only afterwards, after the funeral, after personal possessions came to Grissom, after Sara handled and sorted the debris of a man's pockets, did she say "We should look in Warrick's house for evidence." She held up a key.

They called Nick in route and waited for him to arrive. The door of the apartment pushed open with reluctance giving them the first indication that no one had entered in several days. The stale air, the dirty coffee cup, the unmade bed was evidence of a living man's ability to hope—that he would return, that no one would see how he lived when alone. Grissom passed gloves to the others.

"Let's see what we can find." As trained as they were to process information and evidence, the three found reasons to pause or stop completely when certain things were found.

Sara found the small photograph and held it out to the others. "Maybe he did know." The picture was of a small baby with green eyes.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

_A/N: This chapter is the last one, ending on a much happier note than the previous chapters. Thanks for reading & commenting. _

Nick shook his head. "I don't understand it. Why did they get divorced?"

Grissom looked at him and then to Sara. "Some times people say things in anger they can never forget. Most of the time, it's better to be silent."

For the first time in days, Nick was able to laugh. "Better watch that silence, Sara."

Grissom found what they were looking for—stuck behind a pillow in a chair covered with clothes. Warrick's neat printing listing names, some checked, others marked out, dates, times, events, case numbers.

Nick read over Grissom's shoulder. "He did all this. What does it mean?" Obviously weeks of work had gone into his work. Dates went back several years; cases, solved and unsolved, were attached, some marked with a circled X and others checked.

"The checked ones mean something. Sara, make a list of names on these. We can start our own checklist." Grissom thumbed the papers. "Why didn't he come to me?" He knew the answer. They left the apartment almost as they found things knowing they would probably be the ones to return and clean out the personal belongings of their friend.

Nick and Grissom returned to work. Sara stayed in Las Vegas. She looked at Warrick's file every day. Grissom brought more papers home, but the case stalled. The sheriff went along with the gang related theory but would not close the investigation. Sara visited Tina and baby Warren. Tina cried during most of their visit watching Sara play with the baby.

Every day, Sara read the thick file until she knew facts and times and dates and names that moved in her brain as dreams; a puzzle she knew she had the answer somewhere in those pages of information. Grissom came home exhausted from work. At least he was not working doubles as he once did. Sara waited for him at home and they discovered this suited both.

Six weeks after Warrick's death, she had settled into a routine of walking Hank, reading the file, making notes, reading what she had written the day before, running with Hank, and doing it all again. And Grissom. He woke her when he got home; falling asleep as she was waking up. She would return to his bed as he woke up hours later, always there when his blue eyes opened. For the next hour, they talked, made love, talked and sometimes the ache for more of each other kept them in bed much longer. Several times, he was late for his shift, but no one seemed to notice.

One day, she wrote one name at the top of the page. Every checked case had his signature. She found his name in Warrick's own notes. She connected his supervision to several policemen, including the one who had disappeared the night Warrick was shot. It couldn't be, she thought.

She had shopping to do, things to buy, and she puzzled over what she had written on the paper. She would show Grissom when he got up. She had something else to tell him that was equally unbelievable.

Late in the day, she crawled back into their bed wearing one of Grissom's old soft shirts. She hugged his back and kissed his shoulder as he slowly opened his eyes. He mumbled something "The best time of day," as his hands searched her body and their legs entwined.

"I've something to tell you," Sara whispered, "actually two things."

"I want to do something first."

"You've already done something, Gilbert."

His eyes flew open in an instant. "What?"

Sara thought about making him guess, but with every thing else, they all needed a smile. She reached to the bedside table and brought a small white pencil thin object to the bed; the blue mark obvious in the tiny window.

"Is this what I think it is?" he asked. She couldn't answer because he was kissing her. Long minutes later, she told him her other news. But they were in no hurry to get out of the bed. He ended up calling Catherine saying he would be late but did not tell her why.

He read Sara's notes and her methodical outline of events which led her to the one name she had written at the top of the page. The sheriff, internal affairs, and others would have to see this. Sara wanted no part of the actual pursuit. Grissom called Brass and Nick and by midnight each man understood Sara's case as well as she did. A hushed silence fell over the room as each person realized that Warrick's killer was well known to them. Warrick's death had been devastating to them; this would be potentially catastrophic to law enforcement in the county.

Over several days, a select few were told of their findings. Sara's name was not mentioned. Another week passed before an arrest was made. Without a search, he was placed in custody, and in the back seat of the car, pulled a small handgun from his belt and fired it into his mouth. In the melee that followed, the under sheriff died of a self-inflicted gunshot before an ambulance arrived. Most of law enforcement, and especially the sheriff, breathed a little easier that day.

Sara insisted Grissom keep their news a secret until she had seen her physician. Both found it almost incredible that barely a month had passed since she had dropped her birth control pills in the trash. Grissom's grim look faded on the day of the first visit to the physician's office. That night he told everyone; Sara should have made a sign for his desk, she thought. Catherine called her immediately upon learning the news smiling for the first time in weeks.

Months later, after an uneventful pregnancy and easy labor, a daughter arrived. Sara watched as Grissom examined little fingers and tiny toes as dark eyes watched him. Their friends, who were also her former co-workers, gathered as family members do for occasions like this one. Sara surprised everyone, mostly herself, by assuming motherhood with ease. She worked occasionally, reviewing research, putting together complex information for others to read and study. She volunteered as a guardian _ad litem_ for children in court.

Grissom surprised himself in his new role; puzzled for years over this parent bond that people referred to, found it in within minutes of little Justine's birth. That she looked so much like her mother made this new responsibility easy. He took another sabbatical; this time taking wife and daughter across the country to try a new environment. Grissom sporadically returned to church to thank God for this wife and daughter and the peace he found with them.

Before their daughter was a year old, Sara placed another pencil-thin object in front of Grissom. He didn't wait for a physician's confirmation before announcing to everyone that a second baby was on its way.

The End


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